Not Really Living
by Relatively Crunchy
Summary: Isabella Swan has lost all recollection of her past. She's shipped off to Forks, Washington to see if she can recover anything of her past life, but soon discovers that the mysteries of the present and future can be far more important than the past...
1. Prologue

**Important A/N: This story's idea is taken from "Not Really Living" by JayJetPlaneJay WITH permission. I am "continuing" it if you will. However, it's not necessarily going to pick up where she left off. I'm sort of rewriting it, and going a more angst/drama filled route (humor writing just isn't my strong point, sorry). Nonetheless, it will keep the fundamental ideas such as the Bellice, Bella's loss of memory, and... well, you'll have to read to find out. :)**

**For future references, important author's notes will be placed on top (warnings, disclaimers, you know). Less important stuff will be on the bottom.**

**Disclaimer: Eh, don't own Twilight or the idea of this story, haha.**

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><p><strong>Not Really Living<strong>

**Prologue**

Remembrance is a funny thing.

It's funny because the ability to remember anything of the seventeen years that make up my entire life is something that I do not possess; the memory of who I once was eludes me. I have no recollection of any childhood dreams, of touching memories, or of any life-changing moments that I might've had. I don't know if I ever been in love or if I had a best friend. I don't even know who my parents are, the two people who brought me into this world.

However, I can remember things that are not necessarily important to my past, such as how to tie a shoe. I can remember the meaning of words - I know how to read. I know what forks and spoons and knives are used for - I know how to eat. I know how to walk, how to run, and how to jump. I can feel anger, pain, and the whole spectrum of human emotions.

I can also remember waking up to the whiteness of a hospital, breathing in the smell of the sterilizing chemicals, the brightness of the lights in the room. I remember the foreign feeling of the IV in my left arm and the aching pain in my right thigh. I remember staring blankly at the woman - Renee, who I've come to know as my mother - sobbing next to my bed. I remember when the doctor came into the room with a clipboard in one hand and a pen in the other, and explained to my "mother" and me that I had a rare form of amnesia that was triggered by a traumatic event.

"Isabella will most likely never recover her old memories," he told Renee. I remember the finality in his voice. _We can't do anything about it._

I remember Renee wailing loudly at those words. When he left she looked up at me, her bottom lip quivering, her cheeks wet, and her eyes teary and red. She told me in a croaky voice how she and a police officer found me unconscious in the woods after I went missing for thirty-six hours, with this large bite wound on my thigh. She took hold of my hand, begging me to remember what happened.

"I remember nothing," I remember telling her. It was the truth. Trying to recollect what erased my memories was like closing my eyes and staring into pitch blackness.

Renee started sobbing uncontrollably again. I remember feeling nothing while I watched her cry over me, over the "loss" of me. How could I? Even though she was my mother, she meant nothing to me; I couldn't remember her.

When I was discharged from the hospital, I remember seeing the fleeting hope in Renee's eyes that maybe I would revert to my "old self." Days went by at "home," and she realized - maybe accepted - that I could never remember who I _was_. She was so heartbroken she could barely speak to me, and maybe it broke her heart even more that it didn't bother me much. I had no memory, no real personality - not that I could remember what I was like before the "incident" - so most days I simply went through the daily motions of life, instead of living it. I feel truly devoid during the day.

And at night, when everyone is asleep, I feel more alive as I trace the large teeth scars on my right thigh in my own silent plea. I feel like I know who I am when my finger runs over the raised and scarred flesh.

It's strange, but oddly normal. It's the only connection I have to my former self. I feel as if this bite mark holds the answers to who I was, who I am, and who I am destined to be.

This bite mark is an even funnier thing.

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><p><strong>If you read so much as this prologue, I thank you. :D<br>**


	2. One Way to Forks

**Disclaimer: Don't own Twilight or the idea of this story. But hey, at least I own this mac! :D**

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><p><strong>Not Really Living<strong>

**Chapter 1: One Way to Forks**

"You're going to Forks tomorrow," Renee tells me one night over dinner. She carefully sets her fork down on her plate and stares at me, her eyes holding some sense of expectation. The lines on her face are slightly hardened, determined. I can tell she wants me to remember something - over the past week and a half I've learned to associate that look with her... subtle pleas.

"Where and what is _Forks_?" I ask, genuinely curious. My question gets no immediate verbal answer, but in the low light of the dining room I see with clarity the shining of the moisture that gathers in her eyes. I hope against hope that she doesn't cry - I've also come to learn that I am absolutely no good at dealing with tears, especially the tears of a stranger who is supposedly my _mother_.

"The town you were born in," her voice wavers. The tears don't fall, and I'm grateful. I'm also shocked, however - until this moment I was under the impression that I was born and raised in Phoenix. "It's up in Washington," she stops to recollect herself, pinching the bridge of her nose and breathing in deeply. "I'm sending you to live with Charlie. I already bought the plane ticke-"

"Charlie?"

A watery smile appears on her lips. "Your father."

I'm a little stunned into silence. I have no idea who Charlie is, and just as living with her was becoming slightly more comfortable and familiar, she decides to send me away to stay with him.

She believes this will help me, she tells me so repeatedly, as she spends the next couple of hours filling me in on my father: she explains how my father and I (the way I _used_ to be) act more alike than we look alike and tells me how I used to spend the summers in Forks visiting him.

It's a lot of information to absorb in one sitting, and I'm not sure what I should be thinking as I trudge up the stairs to my bedroom.

Should I be starting to remember who I once was? Should images of my past start to flit behind my closed eyelids? That's what television says, but I'm not sure if its portrayals are applicable to real life. I still draw a blank when trying to remember, I see no images of my past life; I can feel my subconscious drowning deeper in its own pity and growing animosity though, and I don't know how to handle that.

Once I cross the threshold of my room I roughly slam the door closed. I strip vigorously, coming close to ripping my shirt to shreds as I quickly pull it over my head and kicking my worn jeans across the room. I move to the closet where I believe my suitcase is - it's there - and I pull it out with ease, forcibly unzipping it and haphazardly throwing in clothes and random things around my room. I realize in my minute show of frustration that I don't know how to handle anything when it comes to myself, when it comes to anything about_ anything_.

I wonder if I felt this helpless - _was_ this helpless - before the incident as I slip into a non matching set of pajamas and flop onto the messy sheets of my bed. Laying down on the softness of my pillows, I wonder whether I was compassionate to those that I knew or if I was always outwardly bitter, confused and alone. Staring up at the bare ceiling I wonder whether I was naturally smart or always stuck struggling to catch up the standard education level. Tracing the faintly raised teeth marks engraved into my right thigh, I wonder if whether or not the other scars on my body came from innocent clumsiness or deliberate violence.

Throughout the darkness of the night, I tirelessly wonder, wonder, wonder. My thoughts shift from myself to Renee, to Charlie, to the bite scar on my thigh, and then to questions that no one seems to have the answers to. My steady stream of conscious doesn't slow until the early hours of the morning.I don't fall asleep until the sun barely peaks over the horizon.

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><p>At the airport, saying goodbye to Renee is an odd experience. Her hand trembles as she hands over the airline ticket, and once I grasp the paper, she brings me into an embrace. It's only this close that I notice the trembles are wracking her entire frame.<p>

"Can you remember...?" She tries in one last fruitless effort to jar my memory of anything at all - anything that tells her that I am in fact her daughter that she is saying goodbye to.

I sigh, "No." With my answer I expect her to let go of me. Instead she holds me tighter, holds onto me as if she'll never see me again. I can feel her tears soaking through the thin fabric of my shirt. I think of using my own arm to return the embrace but cold air hits the damp spot on my shoulder before I can act, indicating that she has pulled away.

My plane is then called over the airport intercom. Fresh tears pour out of her eyes while the professional female voice announces that it is time to board the flight. I turn away from Renee promptly; it's very unsettling to watch your mother's heart break, especially when you hardly know her.

"I know he can help you better than I can, Bella."

I hear her voice with clarity over the throngs of people in the terminal, even though I'm all the way at the gate. Despite myself, I chance a glance over my shoulder in her direction. She's still standing in the same spot, with both her hands over her heart and the same watery smile she had on her lips yesterday. As if she hadn't really uttered a single word.

Becoming uncomfortable again, my head swivels to the gate agent the second he is done checking over my ticket. He looks at me strangely but waves me through.

The smell of the airliner is a bit overpowering. The fumes produced from the jet fuel make my eyes water and the inside of my nostrils burn. It dies down slightly when I'm actually inside the plane, but as I am walking down the aisle looking for my assigned seat I catch whiff of the cloth seats and whatever sanitizing liquid they use to clean the toilet. I have to resist the urge to cover my nose with my hand. When I finally find my seat, the smells seem less terrible.

It takes about twenty minutes for the pilot to announce that we will be taking off. Not long after his announcement does the plane begin to pull out of the hub and taxi to the long stretch of runway. It picks up speed, and then takes off into the air. My stomach lurches in a funny way, and I visibly flinch when the building pressure in my ears disperses with a 'pop.'

I get excited as the plane climbs steadily higher in the sky. Fascinated, I stare out the small window to my left. I'm fully taken by the dwindling size of the landscape below: individual people are no longer visible; cars and buildings become children's toys; streets and highways look more like the thin veins running through your arm; the grass, bushes, and trees blend into several connected shades of green. I stare until we're all the way in the sky, where the clouds completely obscure my line of sight to the surface below.

It's then my mind picks back up where it left off last night. I begin to wonder again, until my eyelids become heavier and I don't have the strength or desire to keep them open.

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><p>"Bella!" I hear a man's voice shout over the bustling of the crowd in the baggage claim area. I turn my head lazily in the deep voice's direction - there's a man dressed in a police uniform waving at me. I am still groggy from the jolting awake I received from the plane's wheels when it touched down in Port Angeles, but I can recall Renee telling me that Charlie was the chief of police. This must be him.<p>

"Bells!" he exclaims after I retrieve my suitcase and tentatively approach him. I look unblinkingly at him; I can see my eyes and face in his. "I'm Charlie, your dad."

I want to try to remember him, but I can't. All I can draw is a blank. "Hello," I say. I'm seeing my father for the first time, and I don't know what to call him.

He shuffles on his feet. He's nervous, I think. "You can call me Charlie," he offers. "It's kinda what you used to do anyway..."

I nod. "Okay."

We stare at each other for a moment that I can only describe as awkward.

"Well," he breaks the silence that has settled over us, "the cruiser's outside. I have word that a bad storm is on its way, so we better get moving." He smiles under his greying mustache. It's nothing like Renee's anguish filled smile at the airport or over yesterday's dinner, and I kind of appreciate it - I want to tell him so, but refrain from doing it. I think telling him might make things even more uncomfortable for both of us.

He volunteers to take my luggage. I let him and follow him out to the parking lot. His car isn't hard to miss - I am able to spot it after a quick scan of the car filled lot. He moves around the back of the car to put my suitcase in the trunk as I open the door to sit in the passenger seat.

"So, um," Charlie begins as he gets in, closes his door, and starts the car. He backs out of the parking space before saying anything else. "Hows it been... going?"

I hope he doesn't try to get me to remember what I obviously can't every second of every day. "Fine. Besides the memory loss."

"So she wasn't exaggerating? You really can't-?"

"No," I cut him off, my jaw clenching. My body tenses of its own accord as I turn my head away from him to glare out the window. "I can't remember a single thing."

"Oh," he says. He's quiet for a while. His fingers start to drum on the steering wheel. "I'm sorry."

I exhale slowly, "Please don't be." He wasn't there - it is definitely not his fault. It's no one's fault... I feel a pang of sadness, the familiar heaviness of self pity. It's my fault.

Charlie opens his mouth. No words escape him. He wants to say something else, I can tell, but doesn't.

The rest of the car ride to Forks is spent in tense silence.

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><p><strong>AN: I greatly appreciate anyone who has read this far, even if it's only chapter 1. Feedback is also appreciated. ^.^**

**Also, I am gonna give you all a hint: if you pay attention to detail, you just might find out what bit Bella earlier that I plan to reveal it. :D But I won't confirm any suspicions until I officially reveal it~ haha.  
><strong>


	3. The Normal Half of the First Day

**Disclaimer: Somethings are better left unsa- just kidding. I don't own Twilight or the basic idea of this story. :)**

**A/N: To answer a very important question... No, I don't plan on going the _exact_ same route as the original story did.**

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><p><strong>Not Really Living<strong>

**Chapter 2: The "Normal" Half of the First Day**

I lay face down in my bed, wide awake and dreading the morning. Tomorrow is the day that I start my first day at Forks High School, and if it's anything like I experienced back in Phoenix, I know I will despise it. I had been hoping to put off my start of school here for as long as possible, but Charlie had proved he was a rather efficient man when it came to handling "important matters" - he had called the school to have me enrolled before I even arrived in Washington.

I had had only a little more than two days to get acquainted with the area, most of which I did on the day that I arrived (Friday) and half of the next. It wasn't much to explore; the town was much smaller than the city of Phoenix, and the weather appeared to only switch between cloudy and rainy. After that, I unpacked what little belongings I had in my suitcase. I spent the rest of my time in the house, watching television and reading books that I had apparently collected over the years.

I sigh into my pillow, the only audible sound in my "new" room besides the loud beating of the rain against the glass of my window. My anxiety and the noise of the rain make it too troubling to sleep, but I am sure that even in their absence I would still be up at this hour. I always am - I can never seem to sleep soundly at night. Is insomnia a common side effect of memory loss? Or was I like this before the incident?

Sighing again, in agitation at my never ending cycle of thoughts this time, I turn over on my back to stare at the ceiling. Maybe if I stare hard enough up at the worn paint, my eyes will grow tired, slipping closed and consequently give in to the temptation of sleep...

The next thing I know there's a shrill screech somewhere to my right. I shoot to an upright position on my bed, slightly sweaty, the sheets pooling at my waist, and my heart pounding wildly in my chest. Quickly, I realize the angry sound is coming from the alarm clock on my nightstand, and reach over to slam it off. Slipping out of bed, I run a hand through my hair and try to shake away the dense haze of sleepiness clouding my head. I must've gotten no more than three hours of sleep.

Completing my morning "routine" (brushing my teeth, taking a shower, moving a few strokes of a brush through my hair, and dressing in the first red shirt and dark wash jeans I see in my closet) takes no longer than twenty minutes. I'm downstairs by half an hour past seven. Walking into the kitchen, I'm shocked to see Charlie sitting at the small table with a cup off coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other - I recall him telling me he's normally out of the house by six.

It takes Charlie a few seconds to notice that someone else is in the room with him. "Hey," he spares me a glance above the rim of his coffee mug. "Um, cereal's on top of the fridge."

I fetch a spoon and bowl, shuffle over to the fridge, stand on the tips of my toes, grab the first box my fingers touch, and pour the supposed 'lucky charms' into the ceramic dish. I sit at the table and eat my cereal quietly, he reads the fine print of the paper quietly; we sit in silence.

He begins to fidget after a few minutes, when I'm almost finished eating. "I didn't know how far your... memory loss goes," he pauses, glancing up at me again. "So I figured I could give you a ride to school for your first few days."

"Thank you," I smile. I like to believe it's genuine.

He returns the gesture as I let the metal of the spoon softly clink against the ceramic, and stand up to place the bowl in the sink. I hear the wrinkling of the newspaper and the chair screech on the worn linoleum as he stands too.

"Are you ready?"

"Yeah," I answer. I follow him out the front door and into his police cruiser.

The car ride to Forks High School is a lot smoother and shorter than the one to Forks itself. There are some houses and many trees that pass by my window, and before I can really comprehend it, the car slows down to turn into a parking lot.

The building that comes into sight is smaller than the high school building in Phoenix. Its architecture looks dated, the red washed brick used in its construction slightly warped. The sign out front, _Forks High School Home of the Spartans_, seems as if it can tell anyone who asks the dark and lighthearted stories that probably surround the school. As Charlie pulls up to the main entrance, I can see the various scratches on the double doors that scream of continuous use by the generations that have passed in and out over the years.

"Well, this is it," Charlie announces the second he coasts to a complete stop. "We're here kinda early," explains the lack of cars filling the parking spaces. I move to get out of the car.

"Have a good day at school, Bells," he says. I nod with a ghost of a smile, and shut the car door. He pulls off, and I notice the parking lot is slightly more full than before; more students are standing around and more cars are filling up the vacant spaces.

"That the new student?" I catch a blond boy asking as I approach the doors.

"Yeah," a deeper - and obviously male - voice answers. I can't really see his face. "Chief Swan's daughter. Hot, ain't she?"

There's laughter. "Damn right. I'd hit that!"

Do they not know I can hear them? Majorly uncomfortable now, I adjust the strap of the book bag on my shoulder, and pull open the doors and step inside. The ceiling lights are brighter than I anticipated, and I am somewhat dazed and a little overwhelmed as I take in the inside of the school's main hallway. Somehow I manage to wander into the main office.

The immediate lull in the conversation between a pale boy with tousled bronze hair and a redheaded woman behind the desk tells me that my presence in the small room is known. A few short words are exchanged and then he's turning around, allowing my eyes a direct line of sight to his face - he's handsome, I think, even with the stern expression settling over his features. His dark golden eyes are hard as he stares at me, his upper bicep even harder as it connects with my shoulder when he brushes past. My nose picks up a whiff of his cologne. It's oddly sweet. A little _too_ sweet.

I halfway turn around to catch a second glimpse of him, mostly out of curiosity stemmed from the first, but the oak door is already closing shut. He moves fast.

I look to the woman sat behind the desk. She's staring past me, at the door, her eyes wide and awestricken and her lips pulled into a dazzled smile. Her expression resembles those of the girls on television after they've spoken to their version of the "perfect guy" for the first time.

I'm assuming she's taken with the bronze haired boy's good looks.

"Hello?" I speak out loud. I read the nameplate sitting on her desk. "Ms. Cope?"

She snaps out of her trance, blinking. "Yes? May I help you?"

"I'm a new student, Isabella Swan. I'm here to pick up my schedule?"

"Oh. Oh! Yes, yes!" she exclaims, and her voice takes on a noticeable higher pitch. "Bella, Charlie's daughter!" turning her back to me, she opens a file cabinet and flips through the folders. "We've been expecting you."

I don't get a chance to respond because a moment later she's facing me again, handing me papers.

"This is your schedule and a map of the school," she informs me, pointing to the sheet with _Student_ _Timetable_ printed near the top. The map must be on the back. "And this is what all your teachers need to sign. Make sure you bring it back here at the end of the day, okay? Have a lovely day, Bella!"

Walking out of the office, I examine my schedule; my first class is English. I flip over the paper, to the map, and before I can find my location I sense a pair of eyes on me.

"Hello?" I turn to the voice. There's a boy with a choppy haircut that falls to his chin line, and a notepad and paper in hand. He appears to be Asian. "Are you Bella Swan?"

The more appropriate question would be: _Are you sure you're Bella Swan?_ "Yes," I reply hesitantly. "Yes, I am."

"Hi, I'm Eric Yorkie and I'm part of the newspaper staff here. I was wondering if I could do a section of you in the newspaper-?"

What I believe is the school bell rings, annoyingly high-pitched and interrupting his sentence. I flinch at the loudness of it.

Eric smiles. "Okay maybe later," he - nervously - tucks his pen behind his ear, puts his notepad in his jeans pocket, and gestures to my schedule. "That was the warning bell. What class do you have first?"

I glance down, checking my first period class and teacher space again, as students start to stream into the hallway. I block out their giggling and conversations. "Um, English with Mr. Mason."

"Me too! I can walk there with you... if you want?"

_If I want._

"Okay."

His smile widens, if only a fraction. He begins to lead the way down the hallway with long strides and I trail behind. Eric appears to notice this, adjusts his speed to mine, and when we are walking side by side, he starts the questioning, "So where'd you move from?"

"Phoenix," the name is foreign when I speak it. I don't feel like I've even "moved from" there, because that implies that I have memories - that I _remember_ - tied to that place.

"Wow, it's really sunny there," he sounds genuinely amazed, and if I am correct, even curious. "Why move from a place like that to _Forks_?"

I look up at Eric blankly; what do I tell him? That I've lost all recollection of who I once was? I'm afraid if I do he'll write it in the newspaper - and then everybody would know, and I'll get the same whispers behind my back and the same looks of expectation and pity as I did before.

"I-I'm sorry," he holds his hands up in surrender. I realize I have only been staring and haven't answered his question. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to. I was just curious. I don't mean to pry."

"You're fine," I tell him. I don't know what else to say. I'm a little frustrated.

Eric stops abruptly at the first door of a hallway we just turn into. "Here we are," he says. He checks the watch on his wrist and pushes the door open. "Since you're new, I think you gotta talk with Mr. Mason."

I nod and cross the threshold. He doesn't follow - despite having said that this was his class as well - and I glance back. The same blond boy from earlier is waving Eric over to the other side of the hallway.

There's a tiny flare of annoyance from somewhere deep within me. I choose to ignore it as I approach the balding man sitting at his desk. "Excuse me? Mr. Mason?"

He looks up from the book we is reading. His glasses fall down his nose. "Yes, who are you?" He squints, and then a sort of realization strikes over his face. "Ah! The new student. Isabella Swan, am I correct?"

"Yes."

"Isn't there a paper I need to sign?"

I hand him the sheet. Mr. Mason signs it quickly and gives the paper back. "Class will start shortly," he says. "You can take a seat."

I do so, shrugging off the weight of my book bag and sitting down. It isn't a full minute before the students in the hallway file into the classroom, their voices filling up the silence of Mr. Mason's room. Almost all of their eyes drift to me at some point when they take their seats, and I can catch their - mostly the girls' - hushed whispers to each other even behind the cover of their hands.

"Hey, that's her, the new girl."

"Heard she came from Phoenix."

"Is that really Chief Swan's daughter?"

"I heard Mike's already interested in her."

I pretend not to hear their gossiping, choosing to focus on twirling a pencil with my fingers instead of glaring at them, though I'm sure they see the tensing up of my shoulders.

Eric is one of the last students to enter. He averts making eye contact with me, but still sits in the seat to my left. Mr. Mason stands in the front of the classroom, signaling the start of class.

The entire period mostly consists of the teacher lecturing on advanced punctuation; the proper uses and the absolute do's and don't's of semicolons, colons, commas, brackets, and parentheses. Eric is quiet through most of the class, not half as chatty as he was previously. I am partially grateful for his silence actually - I honestly have to pay attention to what Mr. Mason is teaching.

It doesn't seem like it's been an entire hour when the annoyingly shrill bell rings, the teacher announces a reading assignment before going back to scanning the book on his desk, and everyone stands abruptly to leave. I join in with the crowd spilling into the hallway. It's quite loud out with - what I assume is - friendly banter and mumbled comments about me as I busy myself with trying to find my next class.

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><p>My three classes (Government, Trigonometry, and Spanish) following English go much the same way it did. There were whispers about me in each and every class, though in Government the other students engaged me in brief conversation and in Trigonometry I met a girl named Jessica, who filled me in on the latest gossip (besides my arrival). Toward the end of Trigonometry, she mentioned I was welcomed to sit with her and her "group" during the lunch hour.<p>

Of course, I accepted.

But right now, in the crowd of students heading in one direction, I can't find Jessica. Don't people who have agreed to eat together, also walk together? I'm confused. I think of just joining the crowd and finding her in the lunchroom, but before I decide on it, someone is already stopping me.

"Hey," he says to me, grinning. I recognize him as the blond boy who I saw in front of the school, and who also waved Eric over in the hallway earlier in the morning. "Are you Isabella?"

I nod slowly.

His grin immediately widens. There's an odd look that grows in his light blue eyes, and I find myself not liking it. "I'm Mike. Mike Newton."

"Okay. Hi," I offer. I try to discreetly move past Mike, but he instead takes it as me trying to hurry to the lunchroom _with_ him.

"Since you're new here and all," he begins, the smile never leaving his face. "I'ma guess you need someone to sit with, yeah? Wanna sit with me and my buddies?" he then adds, "Jessica and Eric's at my table. You know them, right?"

"I've met them..."

"See? It all works out." He sounds like he knows he's right all along.

I don't think I like it at all.

Mike follows me to the lunch line. While I try to decide what I want put on my tray, he tells me all about his popularity and his position on the school's football team. He's distracting to say the least, and I find myself tuning him out until he starts to introduce me to the people sitting at "his" table.

"This is Angela," he says, pointing to a girl with black hair, and light brown eyes framed by glasses. She smiles warmly at me.

"That's Ben," his finger points to the dark-haired boy beside Angela. He raises his hand slightly and wiggles his fingers at me in a shy wave.

"And that's, uh, Lauren," Mike doesn't point at her, instead inclining his head in the other blonde's direction. He drops his tray noisily on the table and sits down. "And you know Eric n' Jessica. Everyone, this is Bella."

"Hello," I greet them all. Most of the occupants of the table respond collectively as I take a seat (regrettably) beside Mike.

Lauren's lip curls upwards in a sneer. "_New_-ton, _new_-girl," she cuts her eyes at both Mike and me. "Ugh."

I think I hear Jessica let slip a snicker, but I ignore it. A silence settles over the table. After a few minutes everything goes back to "normal," or what I'm predicting is normal for this table. I remain in my own silence for the most part, listening to the others' conversations and only speaking when I am spoken to. While the spotlight is mostly off me, thankfully, I'm still fraught by being surrounded by so many people. I find myself completely zoning out, wishing that I was somewhere other than here, wishing that I was somewhere where I could enjoy solitude. And I'm deep somewhere in my thoughts, questioning the _point_ of me being here, when the entire lunchroom suddenly falls silent.

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><p><strong>AN: I meant to get this out earlier and respond to your reviews but Fourth of July preparations got in the way... and then a huge nasty storm system hit and ruined all our plans xD. There weren't even fireworks, and that made me mad. Oh well, there's always next year...**

**A big thanks to everyone who reads this far, reviews, and adds this story to their alerts and to their favorites!**


	4. The Less Normal Half of the First Day

**Disclaimer: Yeah, because I own everything, right? Not really. Twilight and the original idea for this story don't belong to me.  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Not Really Living<strong>

**Chapter 3: The "Less Normal" Half of the First Day**

Not even forty-eight hours ago, I remember reading a book that described the differences between regular occurrences and strange occurrences. Regular occurrences are events meant to be expected in everyday life, and they vary from person to person, even between twins living within the same household. Sometimes a person won't know when they will happen, but apparently the key is that that person _expects_ them to happen. Strange occurrences are the opposite in the sense that they're completely _unexpected_.

So far, I've never truly known the difference. All occurrences in my life are unexpected to me.

Somehow though I can just feel that, when the door swings open widely and everyone stares at the four unearthly people striding into the cafeteria, it's a regular occurrence. Regular, because something inside of me positively knows that the entire school falling silent in the presences of such _gorgeous_ strangers has to be a regular occurrence.

First my eyes set sight on a blonde with very pale skin, her hair swaying in time with her hips, close to her waist. Her legs are long in her dark jeans - she's taller than most of the girls, I think. From here, I can see her eyes are as golden as her hair, and aren't looking at anyone in particular as she scowls.

Beside her is a _huge_ guy. He's most likely the tallest _and_ most muscular guy in the entire school. His muscles seem to be stretching the fabric of his shirt, underneath the open jacket he's wearing. He has a tree trunk of an arm slung around the blonde and large goofy grin on his face, showing off his dimples. His hair is dark, short, and curly. I notice he has the same pale skin and the same (but remarkably friendlier) golden eyes as the blonde under his arm.

Not too far behind them is the same guy I saw in the office this morning. He doesn't have the stern look he did before, but his arms are crossed over his chest and there's a hint of impatience on his face as he looks over his shoulder to the entrance of the cafeteria.

In twirls a petite girl, her movements almost inhumanly graceful. Her dark hair is short and disarrayed - stylishly so - the spiky ends bouncing about as she dances her way past the bronze haired boy. He stops her by extending an arm out, and saying something speedily; I don't miss the equally quick glance he sends my way. She beams up at him in return. She's as beautiful as the blonde, though her beauty is unique with her sharp but delicate features.

They both walk to the table where the first two are sitting and the silence of the school cafeteria is broken first by annoyed grunts from the boys, and jealous sighs from the girls. People pick up their conversations where they left off. I don't pick up where my thoughts left off; I keep myself occupied by glancing at _their_ table.

I wonder if they're all related - all four of them have golden eyes and alabaster-like skin. I think that sweet smell is back as well, and it might be coming from them. I'm not sure. Then again, I'm never sure.

"Unbelievable, right?" I hear someone say. Their voice is close. I reluctantly tear my gaze from staring at _them_ - in particular the petite girl. Angela is observing me.

"Huh?"

Angela smiles and glances over at _them_ as well. "I see you've noticed the Cullens," she says.

I blink. "The Cullens?"

"Yeah, the _Cullens_," Jessica cuts in. She leans across the table, and speaks in a slightly hushed tone. "They're all adopted by Dr. Cullen and his wife. It's weird."

"Oh," is all I have to really say. That's strange - I thought they look too much alike to _not_ be related.

"I haven't even gotten to the real weird part yet," she continues on, her expression looking more like she swallowed something sour. "The big one, Emmett, is dating the model blonde, Rosalie. Alice, the really short one, and Edward, the hottest one, are single. Though I was sure Edward was dating the other blond, Jasper..."

Glancing at the Cullens' table again, my eyebrows furrow. She gave me five names, but I only see four people. "I don't see another blonde."

"There are normally five of them," Angela explains neutrally. "Jasper left close to a week ago. No one knows where he went. The Cullens probably know of course, but they only keep to themselves."

"They're such creeps. I wish they would _all_ leave," Lauren jeers.

Mike, who has been surprisingly quiet since the Cullens' entrance, finishes slurping his juice box noisily. "He always looked like he was hurting. Rumor has it he got fed up or something."

"Fed up with what? Alice hitting on him all the time? Edward all over him?" Lauren remarks snidely, her green eyes squinting distastefully as she takes interest in her nails. "I'd get fed up too. She's a weirdo, and he's a freak."

"Total weirdo," Jessica agrees.

Mike shrugs. Ben and Angela simply shake their heads.

Frowning in confusion (could they really be that bad?), I turn to stare at the Cullens again, but freeze in my actions because Edward and Alice _Cullen_ are staring in this table's direction, _my_ direction. Edward's eyes are as hard as before, if not even more so, wholly scrutinizing me as I lock eyes with him. After a few seconds, my own eyes shift total focus to Alice's. Her golden orbs are much more expressive than Edward's - expressive with what, I don't know, but they're shining with something that I feel I should know.

I watch as she moves to stand, but is halted by Edward's hand clamping around her forearm. He says something to her, something I don't catch because his lips are moving unbelievably fast. The other two Cullens look this way briefly before turning to Edward and Alice, and saying something also.

"Did... Did they just look over here?" Jessica questions incredulously. Her already high-pitched voice raises an octave higher, "Did Edward Cullen just look over _here_?"

"They did," Angela affirms Jessica's first question. She looks to me, her foot gently nudging mine under the table, and I know exactly what she's silently communicating: _They were looking at you, Isabella_.

And I don't know how, but I just know that that is an unexpected occurrence.

It's then that the bell rings, and I cringe as all the chairs in the cafeteria screeching on the white tile at once. Mike snaps out of whatever mood he had fallen into when the Cullens silenced the cafeteria with their entrance. He offers to take my tray to the trash. I turn to Angela, open my mouth to ask the whereabouts of the Mr. Banner's Biology class, but Mike comes back.

"So what class you have next?" he asks. That grin from earlier is back as well.

"Biology."

"Want me to walk you there?"

"Hey, um, Mike," Ben taps his shoulder. "I really need to talk to you."

Mike's eyebrows furrow. "Can it wait, man?"

Ben shuffles from foot to foot, the hand he used in contact with Mike burrowing into his pants pocket. "It's really important..."

"Alright then," Mike sighs. He shoots me another smile that's smaller than the previous ones. "Catch you later Bella?"

Angela appears by my side once Mike and Ben disappear into the sea of students moving out of the cafeteria. "Sorry about Mike," her tone of voice is sincere as she apologizes, "I know he can be a little overbearing."

_She got rid of Mike._

"Thanks," I tell her. I really do appreciate it - I'm not sure what to do to get him to leave me alone. Along with remembering my past, socializing with my peers is not my strong point, but I am positive that being rude on the first day is not the way to go.

"You said you had Biology next?" Angela asks. I nod. "With who?"

"Mr. Banner."

She pushes her glasses further up her nose. "So do I. Would you like me to show you the way?"

"Please."

She leads me to the classroom. The walk with Angela is one of silence, but not uncomfortably so. Her presence is almost calming; it doesn't call for my attention, and it doesn't feel as though I'm straining under invisible pressure. Is this what "making a friend" feels like?

We arrive at Mr. Banner's biology class a second before the bell rings.

"Oh, let's look at who's almost late... Ms. Weber? This is strange; you're normally always on time," a balding man calls out. His voice has a condescending tone. He spins around in his chair and faces us. "And who is this that you've brought with you?"

Surely the teachers would know that there is a new student in the school by now? "I'm Isabella Swa-"

"Oh, right," Mr. Banner cuts me off with a wave of his hand. "The new student. Almost forgot what one was." His dark eyes cut to Edward...

... _Cullen_.

My nose twitches involuntarily. I think that sweet smell is back.

"Have something for me to sign?" I fumble with trying to find the appropriate paper. I pull it out from under the loose leaf paper I used to jot down notes in Trigonometry, and he grabs it abruptly. "Would you like to introduce yourself to the class?"

I come close to choking on an intake of air. My hand hesitates in taking the slightly crumpled sheet of paper. I scan his aging face for any obvious signs of mirth. His eyes reflect some kind of amusement, and his lips are quirked up in a smile and maybe he's just-

"I'm only kidding, Isabella. I'm sure the entire school knows who you are," he says sweetly. Even I can tell it's fake. "Have a seat by Mr. Cullen so we can get started, hmm?"

The same flare of annoyance that was sparked this morning begins to expand deep inside me. It makes itself known in a low growl that rumbles in my throat, and in the way I grip the paper with unnecessary force. The display goes unnoticed by Mr. Banner and most of the class - most, because Edward raises a single bronze brow as I take the seat next to him.

* * *

><p>By the time Biology is over, I am definitely certain that Mr. Banner's lecture was much longer than the standard hour and that Edward is a peculiar person compared to the rest of the student body. Though it is only my first day, I find he isn't like anyone I've met at this school so far; there is something off about him with the half glares he constantly sends my way, the sweet smell wafting from him (and the rest of his family for that matter), and his outward expressions.<p>

It does not escape my notice that he also follows me when I try to make my way to my next class, Gym, only to disappear when I find the girls' locker room.

His actions make me feel uneasy, and I can't shake the feeling as I step into the overcrowded locker room. It intensifies, causing heat to rush to my cheeks as I stumble through the rows of changing girls. I narrowly avoid bumping into any of them. Just when I think I'm in the clear, I knock into something ice cold and _hard_.

She turns to face me, and I'm staring into the eyes of Alice Cullen.

"S-Sorry," I stutter. My muscles seize. I want to move, but it's as if I'm frozen in the darkened gold of her eyes.

Alice smiles, easy and soft. "You're fine," her voice is incredibly smooth, light as she speaks those words to me. I feel like I should say something else, to get her to speak more than just those two words...

_I don't know what to say._

Whatever "moment" - is that what television calls it? - I am caught in is over. My body returns to its previous fluidity. I use it to my advantage, managing to reach the gym. In the middle of the large room stands a stout man, clipboard in hand. I approach him on slightly wobbly legs.

He looks up when I'm halfway to him, "Isabella Swan, I'm guessing?"

"Yes."

"I'm Coach Clapp."

I nod.

"Today's your lucky day, you know," he adjusts the blue cap sitting on top of his head. "This is your first day, so I can't work you like my other students. You get to sit out on those bleachers over there."

I hold up the paper he's supposed to sign. He does and hands it back, pointing to the bleachers. I go to climb over a few of them, letting my book bag slide off my arm and sitting somewhere in the middle.

I watch as the students stream in the gym, the girls on one side and the boys on the other. They all gather around Coach Clapp as he explains they will be doing warm-ups and playing a game of "hardcore" basketball. I scan the faces of the students. Lauren and _Alice_ are the only girls I recognize; _Emmett_ and Mike are the only boys I recognize.

I recognize that sweet smell _again_.

They get started with the warm-ups. I don't pay attention to what they're doing exactly - something called suicides? I'm not sure. I kind of discover myself zoning out as I watch the two Cullens. Alice's movements are elegant, and it's like she makes them effortlessly compared to the rest of the girls in the class. Emmett's are strangely graceful as well, despite being significantly larger and taller than Alice.

It's a very interesting show, more so than those on the television, and I'm close to disappointment when Coach Clapp yells for everyone to stop. I catch Emmett nudging Alice, whispering to her and inclining his head in my direction. He breaks out into a giant grin when her eyes widen. They're forced to separate when the two team captains the coach picks for the basketball game choose one of them for either side.

The game is played fiercely by both teams. Emmett does most of the scoring for his team in the beginning but Coach Clapp calls his name in warning, and with a pout he starts to let his teammates handle the ball. On the other team, Alice is obviously the best player they have, but she regularly passes the ball around. For some reason, I have a feeling she's holding back - that both her and Emmett are not using their full potential.

A whistle is blown some minutes later, signaling the end of the game. The coach announces Alice's team the winner, and with the quiet cheer from her team there is a minimal amount of grumbling from the other. As everyone heads to the locker rooms, Emmett seems a bit more sullen than the other members of his team. Alice smirks at him.

Coach Clapp waves me down when the gym is empty. "I hope you paid attention today, Isabella," he taps on the paper clinging to his clipboard. "Because tomorrow you're gonna be down here with us. No excuses."

"Okay," I'm able to figure that much out. Is there some underlying message?

"Odd kid," my fingers halt in brushing the cool metal of the girl's locker room door handle when I hear him mumble to himself. I want to turn and ask why he thinks that, but refrain from doing so.

_Have I always been odd?_

It's hard to tell. I don't remember.

I hurry through the less crowded aisle of the locker room - despite my rising insecurity, a very, _very_ small part of me wants to catch a glimpse of Alice. It's a fleeting thought, however. The final bell of the school day rings. I all but run into the hallway and get lost a couple times in finding the main office again.

Ms. Cope isn't in the office when I drop off the sheet all my teachers had signed. I leave it on top of a stack of papers on her desk and follow the flow of students into the parking lot.

It's not at all as sunny as I expect when I push open the doors to the parking lot. It's as cloudy as it was this morning, though the sun is shining brighter through the layer of grey in the sky. The humidity is high, palpable, clinging to my clothes and skin as I wait for Charlie against the worn brick of the school. The temperature is very cool. I have a feeling it's going to rain soon.

None of the students in the parking lot approach me. It doesn't bother me - I'm taxed, worn out from all the social interactions I took part in today. Glances are shot my way, and while I really want to disappear, I settle for ignoring my peers and their conversations.

Charlie arrives then, shortly after I start to become comfortable against the brick. Sighing, I push off the wall with a foot, walking to the cruiser as it slows to a stop. Without thinking, I take a quick survey of the area before sitting down in the passenger seat; my eyes seem to automatically lock onto where the Cullens are gathered by expensive looking cars. Edward becomes aware of my staring first, challenging me with a narrowing of his eyes. I break eye contact just as the other Cullens notice and turn around.

If Charlie notices the spectacle, he doesn't say anything and merely smiles under his mustache as I close the door. Once I buckle my seatbelt he puts the car in drive.

"So, uh, how was it?" he asks after the school is out of sight. "Not too bad?"

"It was..." I trail off. _Strange. Odd. Uncomfortable. Unexpected._ "It was fine."

"Good. That's good," he still isn't sure about what he's supposed to be saying. I can sympathize; I don't either.

He pulls into the driveway of the house but doesn't cut the engine, "I'll be home around nine. If you... If you feel tired don't wait up, okay?"

"Okay," with that I'm out of the cruiser and stepping into the house, where I stay inside for hours absently watching television and threading through my thoughts of today. I'm exhausted, so somewhere in between shows and roaming thoughts of golden eyes I doze off a few times. In the middle of my second nap I wake up to Charlie coming home ten minutes before nine, with a pizza box in his hand.

We eat in the quiet of the early night, and after we're both finished I go upstairs to my bedroom, where I don't sleep until the early morning.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: And there starts the Bellice. And of course Edward is already a creeper. **

**What Bella is will remain a mystery for a few more chapters... but in the near future, it'll be revealed. Trust me on that.  
><strong>

**Again, thanks to all who have read this far, review and/or add this story to their favorites/alerts. All feedback is appreciated. :)**


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